


Survécu

by Irnstark



Series: I will follow you into the dark [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Enjolras Has Feelings, Enjolras survives the barricades, M/M, One Shot, Sad Enjolras, everyone's dead, grantaire doesn't, quotes from The Brick, this is sad i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:46:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25164124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irnstark/pseuds/Irnstark
Summary: 3. Regret.How cruel life had been. And how cruel death, for leaving him behind.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: I will follow you into the dark [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822939
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Survécu

Enjolras blinked a few times, slowly, trying to reacquaint himself with reality. For the first couple of seconds, he wasn’t able to focus on anything. His vision was blurry, his eyes were slow to move and burned as if he had opened them underwater. Everything was wrapped in a grayish mist, thick, wet… he was wet. His shirt was wet, sticking to his chest, and he shivered at the breath of wind that run over him despite it being mid-summer. When he was finally able to regain his sight he started to recognize his surroundings and slowly, memories of the previous hours came to his mind. He was still laying on the cold, dirty ground of the street, a big crimson flag was waving majestically above him, the only sign of movement in the little square. He spotted a balcony behind it, and then he remembered. He remembered everything. He immediately tried to push himself up but as soon as he did so his head started spinning violently. He moaned in pain, lifting his hands to his head, grasping it as though it would put a stop to the ache but pulled away suddenly when he felt something wet and sticky on his fingers. He stared at his hand, at the blood on it. Then, his eyes were caught by the same crimson color that was covering every bit of the ground beneath him and he felt his breath hitch in his throat. He looked around at the bodies that were lying motionless on the ground. Had they always been there? They were so many. Enjolras felt his arms tremble under his weight, he tried to push himself up, ignoring the pain on the back of his head, ignoring the ache in his muscles, his arms, his legs. So many. So many, Enjolras suddenly felt sick. Everything was spinning, yet all of it looked so terribly still. No sounds could be heard over the mind-numbing silence, no voices singing and crying for freedom, no bullets were being fired, no flags were being waved. All so still. He felt his feet glued to the ground, he couldn’t move them. He couldn’t bring himself to get any closer. He recognized the faces, every single one. Some of them were laying on their stomach, and even so, he could recognize them. He knew these boys, knew them like the back of his hand. They had trusted him. They had trusted his words, his ideals of freedom, of justice, they had followed him through and through and in the end, they had fallen, all of them. And he had survived. Enjolras took a few steps back, unconsciously, until his back hit the wall of the Musain. The sudden impact made him jolt, he hadn’t even realized he had moved from his original spot. He felt his breathing grow uneven, felt the weight of a rock press down on his chest and he whimpered, a low, broken whine coming out of his lips before he could stop it. He didn’t want to stop it. He wanted to scream, he wanted to scream until he had no air left in his lungs. Instead, he kept staring at the bodies scattered all over the ground. _They are gone,_ he thought, numbly. How could they be gone? How could all of them be gone, just like that, how could they? Only a couple of days before they were drinking and laughing all together, singing, dreaming, hoping, living. He remembered, the burst of life, of juvenile joy and fantasies— but it was so much more than that, wasn’t it? _Brothers, who dies here dies in the radiance of the future, and we are entering a grave illuminated by the dawn._ Those had been his words, and now he was starting to doubt them. He had never once doubted his choice, never once feared to be in the wrong, never once hesitated to fight for what he believed in. But now that they had paid the price— now that _he_ had paid the price, was it all still worth it? Life had been cruel in the cruelest way possible, it had him surviving, and now wasn’t it ironic? _I will die with you and you will be born again with me._ His words sounding bittersweet to his own ears. He was willing to die, he wasn’t scared of death. He would have died alongside his friends, his brothers, he would have fallen asleep one last time dreaming of a better world, living in that dream forever and his sacrifice would have meant something. But he had survived. And he hadn’t taken that into account. How his heart was beating fast in his chest, how everything felt cold and distant, how empty he felt. He felt guilty, and then he felt mad for feeling so. Those boys were ready to sacrifice their lives just like he was. Their ideals were stronger than his words, as radiant as the morning sun, and they had accepted to follow him with consciousness, in the name of firm, true sentiments. But the sun had been obscured by the clouds and Enjolras knew it was never to come back. He walked inside the Musain, numbly, a voice inside of him screaming to walk away but he ignored it. He couldn’t. He needed to see, he needed to face what he had tried to avoid for too long now, too long with every passing second. The wood creaked under his weight, he lifted a shaky hand to grasp the handrail. When he finally reached the top of the stairs he remained still for a moment. He felt his eyes tingle with tears but he didn’t dare let them spill. If he tried hard enough, he cold almost trick himself to think this was just another of the far too familiar views he had gotten so accustomed to, lately. Grantaire was laying on the floor, not too far from the balcony. The wind coming inside brushed his hair slightly, making Enjolras’ vision far too vivid, almost real. How many times he had scolded him for falling asleep during their meetings, on the floor, at the table, drunk, unbothered by their speeches and their plans, how many times he had shaken him awake, just to be greeted by a sleepy, smug smile. _Calm down, Apollo,_ he’d say, _I’m awake._ Enjolras found himself smiling ever so slightly, a smile that hurt and sting his heart, making him take a deep, shaky breath. He walked closer, kneeled next to the body of his friend. One daring hand found its way in his messy, dark curls and for a second he hesitated. He hesitated, almost as if he were expecting Grantaire to open his eyes at any moment. He gave him a small push, so gentle, he had never been so gentle with him. It was all about scolding and small one-sided fights, because no matter how harsh Enjolras could be sometimes, Grantaire had never really left his side. He shook his body again, and again, a little stronger, a little more desperate until he was wrapping his arms around him, letting the tears finally slip down his face. _Stupid,_ he whispered _stupid, stupid, stupid!_ He shouldn’t have let him stay. He should have told him to step back, to save himself, and instead, he had taken his hand, grasped it tight and for a moment, for just a moment he had felt stronger than death. He felt so weak, now. He felt alone, so small, so insignificant. He sobbed quietly in Grantaire’s shoulder, refusing to let go. There was so much left unspoken. So much he wanted back. He wanted it all back, he wanted him back. It had never been enough, had it? No, he had always wanted more, he had always craved for more, more, more, he just couldn’t be satisfied. Could it be he had let his ideals blind him to reality? Could it be that perhaps he already had it all? How cruel life had been, then. And how cruel death, for leaving him behind.

He took another deep breath. The sunset was painting the walls and the floor with the prettiest tones of orange and red, creating an atmosphere so beautiful for what he had lost forever. He closed his eyes.

_I’m sorry._


End file.
